


Why We Don't Hunt in Arkansas

by areasontobreathe



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-04
Updated: 2019-01-04
Packaged: 2019-10-04 06:45:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17299742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/areasontobreathe/pseuds/areasontobreathe
Summary: This is my Destiel Secret Santa for @fuckmeupwitdatfandomshit.  I’m sorry it’s late!! I hope you still enjoy it, regardless.Three Wishes:- Shipper!Sam sees Destiel in action before they tell him- Dean, Cas, and Sam go on a hunt together, Dean and Cas have to play a couple while Sam is smug AF about not having to do it himself- Obligatory “witch casts a spell on mistletoe” or some shit





	Why We Don't Hunt in Arkansas

Sam’s POV

Sam groaned as he pressed his forehead to the window if the Impala and watched the endless view of rice and dirt along the interstate. He and his brother, along with Castiel, were headed to Hot Springs, Arkansas, in search of the cause behind the deaths of multiple couples in the past two and a half decades.  The actual case hadn’t even started, and it was already a huge headache.

_ “Okay, so what are we looking at,” Dean asked as he took a swig of the beer dangling from his fingers. _

_ “Well,” Sam sighed. “Couples have been dying in murder-suicides pretty regularly for the last 20 years.” _

_ “So, spirit or maybe a witch, that’s not too bad,” his brother shrugged. _

_ “Well, actually, this is probably the worst place this kind of thing could have happened.” _

_ “And where is it exactly?” _

_ “Ar…kan… sas?” Sam trailed off sheepishly, wincing at the swearing that exploded from Dean. _

There was a reason the Winchesters, and most marginally sane hunters, avoided Arkansas like the plague.  At least five different tribes of Native Americans had originally settled the area, for one, so the entire state was lousy with artefacts.  Add to that Civil War history, Prohibition Era vacation hot spots for the Mob, and the fact that over half the state was considered State or National Park land, and the entire state was a complete nightmare for figuring out what was going on.

Once they narrowed down the area to Hot Springs – with more swearing from both of them, it was literally a nexus of all the things about the state that made their job difficult – it was decided that someone needed to pretend to be a couple with Castiel.

_ “That’s all on you, Sam,” Dean immediately insisted. _

_ “Dude,” Sam laughed. “You and Cas already have the smoldering intensity down to an uncomfortable art.  You stare at each other, you hover, the whole ‘profound bond’ thing.” _

_ “Rock-paper-scissors?” Dean suggested in a last ditch effort. _

_ Sam grinned as he agreed, knowing how this would end. _

He had not, in fact, known how it was going to go.   _ Why _ did this have to be the one time Dean actually won the game? Since when did Dean Winchester throw  _ paper _ ?  So, here Sam was, headed down the worst interstate he had ever seen, en route to pretend to date his brother’s angel and try to figure out what was leading people to kill their partners and then themselves.

Eventually, the rice paddies gave way to mountains and the smell of pine trees, and bird-sized mosquitos gave way to overly-amorous tree frogs and cicadas. As disgruntled as both brothers were with how difficult they could foresee this case being, they were both slightly impressed when they reached the main tourist area.  On one side, historic bath houses sat in a stoic line, backed by a raised brick promenade and overshadowed by… yep, that was an abandoned asylum. On the other side, restaurants were peppered with more galleries than any town was justified in having, along with artisanal jewelry stores and bars. At the end of the road was the Arlington Hotel: significantly better than the places they normally stayed in, it was – you guessed it – haunted.  Not by just one or two ghosts, oh no, nearly every square foot of the structure was rumored to be haunted, including one entire floor that was supposedly haunted by Al Capone himself.

While Castiel squinted up at the structure, Dean apparently couldn’t be bothered to hide his excitement. “Cas, you think Al Capone’s ghost is really here?”

“It is doubtful,” the gravelly reply came. “He didn’t die here, although he certainly spent enough time here for some echo to exist.  But I don’t foresee it being a true spirit.”

“Awesome,” he practically bounced.  “Fourth floor it is!”

Sam suppressed a chuckle before holding out his hand and wiggling his fingers at Castiel. “Come on,  _ dear _ , let’s check in and go see some sights.”

Castiel looked down at Sam’s hand, eyes narrowed. Finally, he gave in and took Sam’s hand, albeit limply and clearly unwillingly. The taller man really could not blame him – he thought the entire thing was ridiculous as well.  There was obviously a connection between Castiel and Dean, except the older Winchester was too stubborn to admit it. He had hoped that, by putting the two men together for the decoy, Dean would finally see that no one really cared if he liked men.  Unfortunately, it had backfired spectacularly.

Oblivious to the awkward pairing behind him, Dean bounded up to the front desk of the hotel to check in.  Sam smothered a smile when Cas gravitated to stand next to Dean out of habit and Dean – equally out of habit – put a hand on Cas’s back and rubbed it in circles.  In all likelihood, they didn’t even realize what they were doing, which made it even funnier.

“Reservation for Winchester, two rooms?” Dean levelled a weapons-grade flirtatious smile at the clerk, faltering only slightly when she laughed.

“One single, one double, requested on the fourth floor?”

“That would be the one, ma’am,” he confirmed warmly.

“Okie doke!  Here is the double for you and your partner, and here is the single for your tall friend,” she smiled warmly, a look on her face like she was staring at a pile of puppies.

“Oh, no, we’re not –“ Dean blustered, face flushed.

“Honey, this may be the South, but we really don’t care, at least not in Hot Springs. You two are so adorable!  I wish my boyfriend was as sweet as you two are,” she ignored his protests.

Sam intervened gleefully, “I think what my brother means is… he’s kind of superstitious.  We’re huge fans of ghosts and local legends, and when we were reading about the area, some reports came up about couples dying over the years, so he’s a little nervous to have Cas here with him.” He turned a smug grin at his brother, noticing that Cas had perked up a little at the goings on.

“Oh,” the clerk puffed dejectedly. “That. If you’re superstitious, I can understand being nervous about that.  But, honestly, none of the ghosts around here are doing that, I don’t think. They’re pretty friendly, once you get past the fact that they’re dead.” She shrugged.

Putting on a smile, the younger Winchester turned to the ‘couple’ next to him. “See guys?  It’s all good!” He discreetly shoved Dean toward the elevators to take them to their rooms, laughing hysterically inside. Even complete strangers saw something between the hunter and his angel!

Dean’s POV

Dean grumbled as he unlocked the room he would apparently be sharing with Cas  _ anyway _ .  The one time he doesn’t just let his brother win, and he still didn’t get out of pretending to be half of a couple.   _ Why _ was everyone so certain they were together, anyway?  Dean had never shown any remote interest in men. Not that Cas was technically a man… he wasn’t even technically human.  If he had a tendency to stand too close to Dean at all times, it was because he had no concept of personal space. After everything that had happened, if the angel needed a little reassurance with a comforting touch, it wasn’t anything weird, it was just – Cas being Cas.  If anything, Dean was like Cas’s emotional support human: more of a pet than a companion.

Once they unpacked, Cas stayed behind to investigate the ghosts in the hotel while Sam and Dean headed to chat up the local police regarding the case. Unfortunately, local police were of very little help, mostly dismissing the murders as lover’s quarrels, drug induced rages, and abused spouses finally snapping and turning on their attackers before killing themselves from the shock of what they had done.  In truth, it was a little worrisome that a state so small had those things happen often enough that no one even noticed a pattern in these deaths.

Frustrated, Dean was barely in the Impala before he yanked his tie off and over his head. “Well, that was a bust,” he grumbled.  “Just a bunch of ‘this stuff happens all the time’ garbage being thrown around.”

“Maybe we’re going at this from the wrong direction,” Sam pointed out. “There is so much supernatural that goes on in this area that it’s just a fact of life.  Hey, like the girl at the hotel. She wasn’t even phased about the ghosts in the area – she just said they were pretty friendly. We’re trying to look for a connection through the people, but what if we start looking into lore that is really specific to this area.  It may not even be one thing, Dean.”

“The problem with places where weird shit happens all the time?” Dean argued. “Weird people everywhere.  There’s no way we are going to find someone who knows the difference between local rumor and things that actually happened.  Instead of folks who believe nothing, you have an entire town full of weirdos who believe everything!”

“Then it looks like it’s time for you and Cas to hit up the local attractions,” was Sam’s sensible reply. “Let’s find a bar, ask someone what the stuff around here the locals do, and start there.”

Fortunately, bars were not scarce on the ground.  Dean grinned and thought of the perfect one. “Isn’t there a bar near the hotel that used to be a brothel?  Pretty girls, drinks, and locals. Perfect start, eh?” He waggled his eyebrows as his brother activated Bitchface #23 (Now with Eyeroll!). 

“Dean, you’re supposed to be in a committed relationship.  No trying to hook up with girls from Maxine’s. For all we know, that’s what activates the stupid curse or whatever, and Cas will end up snapping your neck.”

“He’d fix it,” Dean grumbled. “Besides, it’s a front, dude, it’s not like I’m  _ actually _ dating the guy.”

To his chagrin, Sam just smirked and turned to look out the window.

As they walked in the bar, all Dean could think was how this trip was just getting worse and worse.  _ What the fuck do they feed these dudes, _ he wondered.  For one of the few times in his life, Dean wasn’t even approaching being tallest person in the room. In fact, he was pretty average height, and there were several men not much shorter than Sam. Maybe there was something to the whole local mineral water mumbo jumbo, after all. 

“Hey, cutie,” the bartender grinned, white teeth contrasting beautifully with deep purple lipstick and skin the color of fresh turned earth.  Unfortunately, that megawatt smile was turned to Sam, not Dean. “What can I get you and your friend here?”

“Uh, two beers,” Sam stammered with a shy smile. “Two beers, something local if you’ve got it.”

“Two Trash Panda IPAs, coming right up, honey,” she winked and turned away.

“ _ Dude _ ,” Dean hissed. “What the fuck?”

“I have no clue,” Sam whispered hastily before plastering on another smile and cranking up the boyish charm when their drinks arrived. “So, I have a question, if you’re not too busy.”

“I get off at 3am, sweets,” she purred at him.

“Uh, thanks, but um, not that kind of question,” Sam cleared his throat and glanced at his brother.

Getting the signal that he was being asked to come to the rescue, Dean tried his most panty-dropping smile. “I’ll make sure he’s back by then –“ he glanced at her name tag “Carmen. Actually, my brother and I heard this place used to be a brothel, and we were hoping you could tell us about the history of the place.”

“Sure,” she straightened up, sultry smile replaced by excited grin.  _ Bingo! _ “Well, it’s named after Madam Maxine Temple-Jones, who was a prostitute and Air Force Veteran.  When her enlistment ended, she moved here to Hot Springs, working for a local madam over on Prospect Street.  Eventually, she bought her out, and was actually a really respected business woman until she started to clash with the mob.  A couple husband’s two years in prison later, she opened what is now the front room of Maxine’s here, eventually retiring in the 70s.  We’ve expanded since then, but yeah, this really was a brothel, and Madam Maxine was an amazing woman.”

“You sound like you really respect her,” Dean tried to keep her talking.

“I’m a Women’s History major,” Carmen shrugged. “And for her time, Madam Maxine was like a tornado.  She may have been slowed down by things, but nothing stopped her. Not prohibition, and not the mob. She was even pardoned by a Rockefeller after her release from prison.”

“You’re shitting me,” Sam’s eyebrows shot up to his hairline. “She must have had some hell of dirt.”

Nodding enthusiastically, the bartender grinned. “Oh yeah.  She was able to blackmail politicians, businessmen, law enforcement you name it.”

“Did it ever get, you know, violent?”

“Not really.  She was pretty good to her girls, for the times. After all, that’s where she got all the deets from.  Who liked what, which way, and who liked to be done unto, if you catch my drift?” She arched an eyebrow at Dean, who blushed furiously. “But at the end of the day, we’re one of the very few historical buildings around here that isn’t haunted by anything other than ghosts of spills and sweat.  It’s all good though: just being the living legacy of a local legend keeps locals packing the walls four nights a week.” Another bright smile flashed at the boys before hustling off to get another drink order.

Turning to face the room, they both sighed. “Well, that was a bust,” Dean broke the silence.  “We would pick the one bar in town that doesn’t have ghosts.”

“On the plus side, we did find someone who is really up on local history, apparently. Sheer dumb luck.”

Dean nodded in concession at that, while an idea rolled around in his head.  Tossing back the last of his beer, he turned back to the bar to get Carmen’s attention.  While she got his refill, he took a chance. “So, what kind of stuff is there to do around here?  We’re on vacation, and we want to see what the locals do around here for fun, not the stupid tourist crap.”

She appeared to be mulling that over in her head. “Well, there’s the bath house tours – those never get old, honestly.  Plenty of places to swim and fish. We have a surprisingly huge local music scene, if you’re into that. Drag shows every Thursday night over at Jester’s… Don’t laugh, Johnny makes a killer Long Island.  And if you’re still here next Friday, Gallery Walk. It’s like a go-to date thing, everyone does it.”

“Okay, I know what the rest of that stuff is, but what’s a gallery walk?”

“So, y’all saw all the galleries around here, right? Well, first Friday of every month, they all open up and stay open super late, even the really stuck up ones, so that everyone can kind of get a peek at what’s inside.  They even hold stuff for you if you find something you want to buy, so you can come back and get it latter. Drums up a lot of business, especially for the bars and cafes around here.”

Dean shook his head, “I’m sorry, but that sounds really boring… just a bunch of paintings, over and over?”

“Oh, no! It’s not all paintings.  I mean, there’s some from local artists and stuff, but there’s a lot of sculptures, local stuff, and a ton of historical items that are just too common for museums to be interested in them.  Y’all aren’t from around here, but I swear you can’t walk through a field around here without kicking up something. It’s ridiculous.”

“That sounds pretty awesome, actually,” Sam interrupted, glancing at his brother. Dean knew that look, and groaned internally.  _ Looks like we’re sticking around for this art thing. _

Sam’s POV

After a week of visiting every local touristy thing Carmen had mentioned, plus a few for good measure (she hadn’t been joking – nearly every structure in town older than 50 years had some tragic history), Sam was in his hotel room early getting ready for the Gallery Walk.  A few more visits to Maxine’s, Castiel and Dean in tow, and she had readily agreed to come along so Sam wouldn’t feel like a third wheel.

_ “Those two are something else,” she laughed, shaking her head as she watched Cas practically sit on Dean’s lap while Dean told some wild story. Even though he didn’t laugh, Cas did give a rare genuine smile, all crinkled eyes and gummy grin. “Cas seems so shy, but he’s like a moth drawn in by your brother’s light.  It’s adorable.” _

_ Sam could only chuckle.  They weren’t even ‘on show’, this was just how they normally acted around each other, and yet Dean still denied with every fiber of his being that there was nothing between them.  Maybe the older Winchester was the only one who didn’t realize how much Cas hung on his every breath. “They really are. Friday is going to so awkward.” _

_ “Friday?” she teased curiously. “Y’all decided to do Gallery Walk?” _

_ “Oh, yeah,” Sam pretended to be sheepish. “I know you said it’s a date thing, but I really like art and I don’t know when I’ll be back this way, so… Yeah. I’m kinda tagging along with the lovebirds over there.” _

_ “You know,” Carmen glanced down at the bar, drumming her fingers. “I’ve never been to the Walk with someone from out of town.  If you don’t mind me tagging along, I can keep you company? I love all the local history stuff, and having someone to ramble at who doesn’t already know all that stuff sounds like fun?” _

_ “That would be awesome,” Sam gave her a genuine smile. Even if nothing came of it, taking along someone who knew the local stuff would be a lot better use of time than listening to the official version from some tour guide.  “I mean, you grew up with this stuff. There’s got to be a lot that the official versions leave out, right?” _

_ “Oh, loads, believe me.  I’ll even keep you from buying knock off garbage, Sam Winchester.” _

_ “It’s a date, Carmen Luckett.” _

Whistling to himself cheerfully, Sam sauntered next door to the room his brother shared with Cas. As he was about to knock, he heard a raised voice.

“Cas, I – I don’t even know what to do about this, honestly.”

“Dean, I thought it was simple.  You watch – “

“That… that is  _ not _ what I meant, man.  Well, that –  _ that _ – too, but…  You’re an angel, I’m a freaking  _ pet, _ dude. It’s – how does that even work, I mean?”

Suddenly, the voices cut off, and the smile that had been creeping up Sam’s face turned into a look of horror as the hurried argument turned into what sounded like a fight.  He was broken out of his shock by the sound of a piece of furniture breaking. Quickly, he threw the door open to stop – 

Nothing. Nope. Not getting involved.

Just as fast as he opened the door, he slammed it behind him, the occupants of the room none the wiser.

Just. No.  There’s a bar here in the hotel. It even has ghosts.  Sam decided discretion was the better part of valor and went in search of a haunted bourbon.

Two (unfortunately) not haunted bourbons later, Dean and Cas managed to get downstairs, freshly showered and dressed, but still flushed and bearing swollen lips.  Deciding to have mercy on his brother in an attempt to stave off the great gay panic that was likely coming, Sam just rolled his eyes and exclaimed “Finally! I’ve been waiting down here forever for you two. Did Dean fall asleep or something?”

“Yes,” Castiel replied carefully. “Dean was very soundly asleep. We regret keeping you waiting, Sam.”

Sam waved off the apology. “Whatever you guys.  We’re supposed to meet Carmen at the fountain, she probably thinks we bailed on her,” he baited Dean carefully.

Sure enough. “You mean, you’re worried she thinks  _ you _ bailed on her,” Dean teased, waggling his eyebrows.  Given ground he was more familiar with, the older brother had found much steadier footing, as expected. “Come on, Casanova, let’s get you to your Dark Lady before she turns into a pumpkin.”

Sam could only shake his head. “Dude, there are so many mixed metaphors in that sentence I don’t even know where to start.” To his credit, Cas was opening and closing his mouth with an expression of such profound confusion that it was likely giving him a headache.

The Gallery Walk actually turned out to be pretty fun.  Targeted at a younger crowd, all the bars, cafes, and restaurants on the street were open, doors wide, music blaring into the street in a cacophony of live artists. Carmen danced delightedly down the sidewalk, dragging the men into and out of each gallery, commentary never stopping.

“That one was so bougie… five paintings and one sculpture, all in the four digits.”

“Oooh, this one has really cute folk art. Sturdy, too.  Perfect for a door stop, or to put on your porch. And it gets the materials out of scrap yards, which is really cool.”

“Ughhhhh… this one always has the same mass-produced crap, but it’s good for gifts for people you don’t like.”

Finally, they reached one that clearly met with her approval. “Other than the Native American gallery in the post office, this is my favorite one. This place really gives you a good idea of what Arkansas art can be.”

The smile that had taken residence on Sam’s face at Carmen’s unrepentant energy faltered as soon as they walked in.  It looked like a Wal-Mart for practitioners of every kind of magic they had encountered. Crystals glittered in literally every single line of sight.  Carvings made out of bone and rare wood boles dominated tables. Line after line of pressed and dried native herbs and flowers, showcasing their intricate appearances, were displayed in frames and suspended from the ceiling.

Taking the boys’ collective silence as awe – which, to be fair, it certainly was a  _ kind _ of awe – Carmen grabbed Sam and Cas’s hands, dragging the out of the entrance. “I know, it’s a lot the first time,” she giggled at the gobsmacked men.  “I make a point to come here every Gallery Walk. It’s just so…peaceful. Everything in this gallery is from here in Garland County, even the materials the displays are made of. I like to look for anything new, but first thing, always, is the quilts.  These are really special.”

A horrifying feeling started to sink into Sam’s stomach, and a glance at his brother and Cas confirmed they had the same idea. Was Carmen the witch behind all of this? She just admitted she came here every Gallery Walk, and there was apparently ‘something special’ about the quilts in the – how cliché – back room.  Braced for the possibility, all three men followed obediently to the room set aside for displaying textile art. He was so focused on being ready for anything that he didn’t realize Carmen was speaking until he saw a slight frown creasing between her brows.

“Sam?” she asked. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah,” he insisted quickly. “Just… wow.  This is… a lot. After all the other galleries, I kind of wasn’t prepared for this place.”  He gave a small smile in apology, trusting in the other two hunters to keep an eye out for anything out of the ordinary.

Seemingly mollified, Carmen tilted her head in understanding. “Sorry, I just get really excited about this room.  I promise we can take our time with the rest of this gallery, but I really wanted you guys to see this.” She made a sweeping gesture at the back wall of the room.  There, Sam saw three incredibly intricate quilts. Unlike the rest of the room, these were pressed between panes of glass. “My great grandmother made these,” she murmured. “She died before I ever got to meet her, but seeing these, I feel a really strong connection, you know?  She made these by hand… they took her ten years each. Thirty years of her life, right here. My grandmother has the fourth one, folded in a hope chest in her bedroom. A lifetime, right there for the world to see…”

As much as Sam was moved, he glanced back at Cas, and nodded at the quilts, hoping Cas would get the hint.  The angel squinted, tilted his head to each side slowly, then shook it before speaking. “Carmen, these are some of the most beautiful works I’ve ever seen.  I can tell that much love went into these… can you tell us what you know about them?”

Sniffling, Carmen nodded firmly before tracing her finger over them, one by one, and detailing where each piece of fabric came from.  A christening blanket, a wedding dress… school clothes, and children’s stuffed animals. An entire family history, so intricate and beautiful that it was hanging in an art gallery. “None of it is for sale,” she sniffled through tears. “My aunts and uncles wanted Granmere’s work to be shown, that the uneducated daughter of slaves, a woman who couldn’t even read, could make something so beautiful, so important.  We didn’t need our family history written down; it’s right here.” She made a sweeping gesture at all three hangings before dashing the tears from her eyes. Chuckling, she took a deep breath. “I must look a right sight to y’all. I swear, I’m not sad. These are just some of the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen, and to know that  _ my great grandmother _ made these… it’s like finding Jesus for the first time, every time.”

“I can understand that,” Cas nodded solemnly. “No art made for recognition, fame, or money, will ever be as devastatingly beautiful as the art made out of a simple act of love.” With that, he glanced at Dean, who blushed crimson before looking at his fee.

“Okay, okay,” she laughed. “Enough sappy shit.  Let’s get you boys into the rest of the gallery.  Ask me about anything you see: like I mentioned before, I’m in here all the time.”

The trio took their time looking over everything in the gallery, and true to her word, Carmen knew not just what it was, but the history behind that particular specimen.  It was mind-boggling to Sam how much of the things they looked far and wide for were as common as grass to the area they were in.

“Oh, yeah, that’s quartz.  It’s just rocks, really, polished up pretty.  You can’t go for a fucking hike without finding a crystal the size of your hand, I swear.”

“Mmm.. those look like Caddo Indian pottery.  They’re a little scarce here, but one county south, that stuff is  _ everywhere _ .”

“Oooo… amethyst… woo… quartz that prevents tooth decay.”

“Ugh, citrine. Shit’s everywhere”

“Solomon’s Seal? My cousin has an entire flowerbed of the stuff. Great groundcover under trees, almost impossible to kill, really.”

Finally, after about an hour and a truly interesting conversation about an enormous carving made out of pine resin, Dean stumbled on something.  “Hey, mistletoe!”

To their collective surprise, Carmen whipped around to face him. “Dean. Do. Not. Move. Does it say where that is from?”

“Uh, yeah,” he sounded somewhat confused about her change in demeanor. “It’s from here in town.”

“ _ Shit! Fuck! _ ” she swore loudly. “Nobody move an inch. Stay exactly where you are.”  Pulling out her cell phone, they could here her muttering. “Come on, come on… I know you’re awake… answer… Memaw!  Hey, it’s Carmen. I have an extremely important question, and I need a very serious answer. Hang on.” Fiddling with her phone, she apparently put it on speaker, because she held it in front of her face when she continued. “You don’t allow mistletoe in your house, or in our houses. You burn it if you find it. Why?”

“ _ Carmen, I swear, what have you done?” _

“I didn’t do nuthin’, Memaw,” she interrupted. “I’m at one of the galleries with some friends, and two of them are standing under some right now.”

“ _ Do you know where it came from?”  _  the voice wavered slightly.

“The old asylum, behind the Promenade.”

“ _ Chile, you burn that this  _ instant!” came the shrieking reply. “ _ Don’t even take it down, burn it over their heads, chere!” _

“Memaw, it’s in a gallery, between glass plates, I  _ can’t _ burn it.”

Swearing spewed from the phone, Carmen looking slightly impressed at her grandmother’s vocabulary. “ _ That is Therese Thibodeaux’s weed.  Do whatever you have to do to burn it, but you burn it.  I’ll bail you out if you get arrested, your friends too, but you  _ burn it _ , right now!” _ Carmen’s eyebrows shot up at the response, phone going dead.

“Who is Therese Thibodeaux?” Sam asked carefully.

“I have no idea,” Carmen shook her head.  “But Memaw would card God to prove He exists. If she says that weed needs to be burned, we have to burn it.”

Sam saw Dean take a deep breath, still unwilling to move his feet. “Okay, Sam and Carmen, you two leave.  To go the third restaurant towards the hotel, order food and a drink. Five minutes after you get there, text me.  As soon as I feel it come in, I’m gonna take this thing down and haul ass. Got that?” When they nodded, Dean nodded back before glancing at Cas.  Whatever he saw there was apparently what he was looking for, because he glanced at Sam and jerked his head toward the door.

Dean’s POV

As soon as Sam and Carmen were clear, Dean turned his attention back to Cas.  His mind briefly flashed back to what happened in the hotel room, forcing him to swallow thickly before he could speak. “Is your mojo telling you anything about this sucker?”

Blue eyes briefly considered the plant hanging over them like a guillotine. “Carmen’s grandmother is right in her insistence that we destroy it.  I can tell there is something… wrong with it, for lack of a better term. It’s cursed, but not recently.”

“Well, yeah, not recently… It’s a dried herb, dude.”  He may not be the sharpest knife in the drawer, but even he knew that herbs took a while to dry.

“No, Dean.  I mean not recently as in the curse is older than the plant itself.”

_ How is that even possible? _ Dean wondered.  Before he could ask, he felt his phone vibrate in his front pocket.  “That’s Sam. Showtime. There may be alarms hooked up to this thing, so be prepared to bolt as soon as I grab it.  Grandma seemed pretty adamant that we don’t move, but we don’t have much choice. Stay as close to me as you can, okay?”  When Cas nodded his confirmation, Dean reached up, yanked on the plate as hard as he could, and ran for the door. His hope was to break the wire holding the specimen in the air, which worked; unfortunately, he brought the entire display down in the process.  Shattering glass filled his ears as the remaining herbs crashed to the floor.  _ Fuck _ , he thought as he took off running around the corner, ducking out of sight before someone connected them to the noise.

Not stopping, the two made a large loop, circling up the steep roads that led around the block behind the galleries, down toward the hotel, then across the main road and up behind the bath houses. To avoid suspicion, they wandered in several shops and one café, where Cas took advantage of a bathroom to take the mistletoe from the frame and dispose of the glass.  When they finally stopped, seated on a bench, Dean pulled out his lighter and shortly had the dry and brittle plant reduced to ashes. To be on the safe side, he doused the ashes with lighter fluid and burned them again for good measure. Pulling out his phone, he shot a text to his brother.

>where u at?

>Fat Jack’s. U guys coming or what?

>On our way

Breathing a sigh of relief, Dean glanced over at Cas to see blue eyes staring at him with laser focus. Suddenly, the danger gone, he felt awkward as he remembered everything that happened between them earlier in the day. “Cas, I – “

“Dean,” the angel interrupted. “There is nothing to apologize for.”

“I’m… I’m not apologizing, man.  I just…this – “ he pointed back and forth between them “this isn’t something I ever expected.  I mean, I’m not gay, and… yeah. So, I don’t – I have no idea what I’m doing. And besides, you? You’re an  _ angel _ , dude.  Shouldn’t you be against gayness or whatever?”

Castiel let out a very heavy sigh, leaning back and looking up at the amber streetlights.  “ _ That _ is something created by mortal men, Dean, not the word of my father.  Even in the Bible, there are several instances where homosexual relationships were toned down to be passed off as simply close friendships.  The reality is, quite a number of Solomon’s ‘wives’ were male, and King David, ancestor of Mary and therefore Jesus Christ, had many wives but only loved Jonathan, son of Saul.”

“Wait, hold up.  You mean Jesus’s grandpa was gay?”

A throaty chuckle and gummy smile made Dean’s heart nearly beat out of his chest. “That is a breathtaking oversimplification, but yes, essentially correct.”

“So, your dad doesn’t actually hate gay people?”

“Have you  _ met _ my brothers?  Balthazar and Gabriel, especially, would have intercourse with anything that stood still long enough to allow it.  Gender was never a consideration, merely willingness, breathing, and a pulse.”

Dean gaped – Cas just made a very  _ good _ joke – before leaning forward far enough to risk falling over and howling with laughter.  “Okay, yeah,” he gasped, wiping a tear away. “Good point. Come on, let’s go find Sam and Carmen.”

The four ended up meeting up at the hot spring pools across the street from the hotel. Carmen was on the phone as Dean and Cas walked up, apparently finishing up a call with her grandmother.  Once she finished, she turned to give a weak smile to the two approaching men. “You guys got really lucky, or really unlucky, I can’t figure out which.”

“Did you tell your grandma we burned the mistletoe?”

She nodded, curls dancing. “Yep.  Sam wanted to know what the deal was with it to begin with, so I asked her about it.  Turns out, the mistletoe around the asylum is supposedly cursed.”

“Cursed?” Sam’s eyebrows shot up.

More nodding. “Back when the asylum was still open, a woman named Josephine Thibodeaux was committed after trying to commit suicide.  She had a very difficult second pregnancy, and then the baby died young of crib death. But her husband loved her, very much, by all accounts, because he and their young daughter visited her nearly every day to check on her progress, hoping she could come home soon.  Jean-Rene Thibodeaux was a very handsome man, and Josephine’s nurse decided she wanted him for her own. So, the nurse started making advances on Jean-Rene and ensured that Josephine wasn’t released. After several months, right before Christmas, Jean-Rene gave in, and kissed the nurse underneath the mistletoe hanging at a party they both attended.  But the daughter, Therese, saw this. Shortly after Christmas, Josephine passed away in the asylum, and Jean-Rene soon wed the nurse.

“Therese, however, was furious at her father and stepmother.  Over the years, she put all her hate towards them, and all her broken heartedness at her mother’s death, into a curse on the mistletoe, so that any couple who kissed under it would meet a terrible end: one would kill the other.  And, to a degree, it worked. When Therese was newly married, her stepmother killed her father and then herself in her horror at what she had done. Therese had intended for “the man to kill the woman”, but because she assumed her papa wore the pants in the family, it turned into the more dominant half of the relationship killing the more submissive half.  Fortunately, the curse only affected the mistletoe that grows around the asylum.”

“How did  _ nobody  _ know about this until now?” Dean asked incredulously.

“Sugar. Even around here, almost nobody believes in curses.  And besides, the asylum scares the shit out of everyone. Even stupid teenagers don’t dare break in.  That place is  _ legit _ haunted, and not the harmless kind either.  In all likelihood, the only reason that mistletoe was even found was because it fell on the promenade and someone picked it up.  No one would go on the grounds to actually gather any.”

“Do we really want to take that kind of chance?” Dean asked, looking at everyone. “Cas, is there any way to break the curse on mistletoe?”

“Not without burning all of it down. Even then, there is a possibility the curse is attached to the grounds, so any new plants that grew would have the same curse.”

Carmen waved the idea off like it was nothing. “I’ll just keep an eye out for any more mistletoe in the shops, and do what I can to take care of it.  This is a national park, so even if you did try to burn it all out, it’s a federal offense.”

All three men just looked at each other, slightly dumbfounded.  “This place is so weird,” Dean muttered.

Carmen just shrugged. “You get used to it, or you get out.”

Sam’s POV

The next day, Sam groaned as he pressed his forehead to the window if the Impala and watched the endless view of rice and dirt along the interstate.  The noises coming from the room next door would likely haunt him until the day he died; an investment in noise cancelling headphones just shot to the top of his priority list.  He never wanted to hear – or worse, see – his brother and Cas having sex, ever again. 

With a shudder, he tried to focus on the case they just finished.  He couldn’t claim they wrapped it up, as there was still the question of all the mistletoe still on the asylum grounds. To err on the side of caution, after saying goodbye to Carmen, the boys tracked down Therese Thibodeaux’s grave, dug her up, and salted and burned the bones.  They would still be keeping watch on the area, just to see if any other murder-suicides cropped up. If nothing else, it would give Sam an excuse to drive down and check on Carmen.

_ “It looks like they got all their shit figured out,” Carmen mused as she watched Dean and Cas sit on the concrete ledge around one of the pools. _

_ “What do you mean?” Sam asked, confused.  From what he could tell, there was no difference in his brother and the angel’s behavior from how they were in the bar.  Sure,  _ Sam _ knew something had changed, but he couldn’t figure out how the woman beside him could tell. _

_ “I’m not dumb, honey,” she elbowed him gently. “You could have told me before that they were together until the sun rises in the West, but they weren’t.  Not then. They are now, though. It’s new.” She tilted her head as she considered them. “It’s hard to explain. They were like two people working together seamlessly before, but now they’re like one person in two bodies.” _

_ All he could do was chuckle and shake his head. “If you only knew.” _

_ “Maybe you’ll tell me.  Not now, but one day. I’ll definitely see you again, Sam Winchester.” _

_ “How are you even sure that’s my real name?” he bluffed teasingly. _

_ “Oh, I know it’s your real name. You think, just because your kind don’t come around here, that we’ve never heard of you.  But we do, you know. Sam and Dean Winchester, the men that nightmares look under their beds for, check their closets for. Is he really an angel, though?” _

_ “Wha – uh, wait, you mean Cas?” _

_ She laughed musically, “Of course. Castiel, Angel of Thursday, formerly God.  I do _ own _ a TV you know.  Don’t worry. Your secret is safe with me.  Memaw would kill me if I blabbed about her sister’s favorite hunters.” _

_ “Her sister…?” Sam felt like he was drowning, heart thumping in his chest. _

_ Carmen just winked. “Aunt Missouri sends her love, Sam.  You be good now.” With that, she patted him on the shoulder and sauntered off.  _


End file.
